Cancer Tale

I walked past three hallways and three sets of staircase, avoiding the escalators. Dragging myself, I wanted to walk the slowest as possible as I was going to see my Mom- with dangling wires and tubes stuck to her hands, feeding on her energy, making her weaker, wearier by the hour. My dad, beside her, also rendering a sleepless night.

My mom’s is a story of a cancer that waited. Waited until it went away temporarily- for the love of a husband to be rekindled.

For the faith that had been- that was almost lost to misery and hopelessness.

For the understanding of her children, and their maturity and independence to bloom.

Despite everything, our family struggled and fought for her to get cured and survive. Contrary to Mom’s wants though. She didn’t desire to be healed. But just to live for as long as God willed.


She knew in her heart it was her doing all along, that she had been workaholic, and didn’t give much time to herself. All her cigarettes have left a grave mark; the empty packs, and piles of papers to check, missed meals and sleepless nights are taking their toll now. But along with those, too, are the time and care she gave as a mother, a daughter, and a wife.

Everything unfolds slowly, and just as my mom promised, my eyes and my heart would be opened. Wounded but fully open to endure more, accept more.

You’re old enough to be responsible for each other, she said. I choked back my tears and just nodded. Yet in my heart, I knew I wasn’t old enough and ready to take all the tasks and thoughts about loss and dying.

She’s selfless. Pure, unhealthy selflessness.

But moms are moms- nurturing, loving and unreasonable. Like what life is- fun, exciting and unfair.

She carried the world and us.

What I wouldn’t give to get her back, and carry the world for her.

Still, thankful to the highest heavens she’s okay.

For now.